Zarokal the Demigod
by TheChelaxian
Summary: The continuation of Torak's Triumph, this chronicles the adventures of Zarokal as he tries to find his own way in the world. Ranging across David Eddings' world, Zarokal shall meet new characters, fight new foes, and make a new legend . . .
1. The Horse

_**Zarokal**_

After I had left my family in the Vale, I trekked north, deeper into Algaria. I needed a horse; it would take forever to get to wherever I was going by walking. I often wondered where I was going. Where could I go, a Demigod, the son of a God and Polgara the Sorceress? Where could I fit in? I was an oddity, as far as I knew I was the only one of my kind. Perhaps Belar . . . but I laughed at that. If he had Demigods as children, we would have seen or heard about them, considering the number of his conquests.

While walking I was tempted to turn back and return to the Vale, but then I remembered how painful those memories were, and I continued north.

I happened upon horse traders faster than I thought I would. There were about a dozen of them, and with them around two dozen of the finest steeds I've ever seen.

As I approached, they waved me over, inviting me to join them. When I could make out their features, I used my will to mask my own; I was afraid of how they would react to an Angarak after the destruction of Riva. I kept the blue eyes, but I lessened the harshness of my features, aged myself, and gave myself brown hair instead of black.

They were kind to me, offering food and water and some supplies. After all the pleasantries were out of the way, I offered to purchase one of their horses. They looked at each other and then back at me. They offered a ridiculous price, to which I countered with a reasonable amount. It went on for some time before we finally agreed on a price, which still nearly bankrupted me, but at least I got my pick of any of the stallions. I perused them till one of them quite deliberately bumped its head into my back.

I spun around, glaring at the beast. The stallion was majestic, its body, tail, and mane were black, but with a bluish sheen. It kept staring right into my eyes, like it was trying to see into my soul, if Demigods even had one. It was then I really made good use of my powers as a Demigod.

I heard its thoughts in my head.

"_Good two-leg_."

"_What_?" I thought.

"_You. Good two-leg_."

"_Me_?"

"_Yes_."

I looked around; the Algars were watching me with anticipation. I knew it would be rude not to pick soon, so I asked the horse, "_Good four-leg_?"

"_Yes_."

I then turned to the Algars and pointed to the black stallion. "This one," I said.

Lots of money exchanged hands, the Algars grinning like little boys just given candy, but they provided a saddle and reins. I mounted and set off again northwards, towards the Stronghold.

As we went on, I asked the horse what its name was.

"_Black Thunder_," it replied.

"_May I just call you Thunder_?"

The thinking creature nodded its consent.

"_Thunder, what did you mean by calling me a 'good two-leg'_?"

"_Good heart, not dark like other dark-skin-two-legs_."

I got a mental image of an Angarak in the horse's mind, one that was abusing its steed, the stallion's mother, and a wave of empathy washed over me as I felt the creature's pain as my own.

"_My birth-mare was abused by a dark-skin-two-leg as well_."

Thunder said nothing, but I could feel his understanding in my mind.

_**Some days later . . .**_

We arrived at the Stronghold some days later. I had heard tales of this structure from my father's ranting and a few of the Angarak generals, but nothing could have prepared me for the awe that filled me as I gazed upon the fortress. It truly was magnificent, if not pretty to look at. Reaching towards the heavens like the manmade mountain it was, it was no wonder why the hordes of Torak failed to capture it.

We approached the eastern gate, at which we were forced to halt. Two Algars came down and approached us.

"Ho, traveler!" one called out, "Who are you and where are you headed in Algar lands?"

"I am Zarok," I replied, "a humble traveler in search of a meal and a bed for the night before I move on."

"Forgive us, Zarok, but these are uncertain times. We must search your belongings to ensure you mean us no harm."

"Very well, I have nothing to hide." I dismounted and handing them by saddlebags and sword. They searched through my food and other few belongings, but lingered on the sword.

It was an elaborate piece, forged by the finest smiths in Mallorea. The hilt was coated in red gold, fashioned so that the pommel resembled a dragon's head, the cross guard the wings, and the tail piercing the blood groove. The blade tapered down to a point, an unusual style for Angaraks—who favored the scimitar—but the most unusual part of it was the blade's color. Halfway up the blade from the cross guard the metal was black, but the rest of the way it was blue.

The Algars looked from the sword to me. "This is your only weapon?"

"Yes, it is."

They nodded and sheathed the sword, handing it back to me. "Welcome to the Stronghold, Zarok."

"Thank you, horse-master."

I mounted Thunder and myself and the guards rode into the city. As we passed through the gate, I asked my escorts what was going on that forced them to such precautions.

"You mean you haven't heard?"

I pretended not to know and shook my head.

"Torak has finally been killed by King Geral Godslayer and the Angaraks are in flight back to their lands. Those that remained in Vo Mimbre after Torak's victory there fled after receiving word of Torak's fall and are scattered across the western half of the world. Many have gathered into pockets of zealous resistance and continue to fight in the Maimed One's name. The Malloreans are regrouping on the other side of the Eastern Sea marshalling a new army, or so they say.

"That's why we searched you, we had to be sure you weren't a Mallorean spy or an Angarak rebel."

"Ah, well, that makes sense."

"_Why did two-legs fight_?"

"_The_ _leader of the dark-skin-yellow-eyed-two-legs took something from the leader of the pale-skin-blue-eyed-two-legs, and the two-legs fought over that_."

Thunder nickered and bobbed his head in understanding.

I expected more people in the Stronghold, but we rarely interacted with anyone else till we reached what I assumed was an inn. The guards dismounted and motioned for me to do the same. One led me in, pointing at an Algar woman behind a counter.

I approached and smiled. She smiled back.

"Good afternoon," I said, "are you the owner of this fine establishment?"

"Yes, I am. Anara is my name."

"I am Zarok. Am I wrong in assuming that there is room here for me to rest my head for the night?"

"No, you are not. Follow me."

She led me up the stairs to the second floor, and gave me a key to the first door on the left. I opened the door and entered the simple yet comfortable lodgings. I placed my saddlebags by the foot of the bed, but kept my sword with me. I turned to see Anara still in the doorway, but when she saw me turn she left rather quickly. I smiled, and then I closed the door and released my Will.

I stepped over to the polished mirror and regarded my normal face. I was only thirteen. Was I ready to make my own way in this world?

Then I remembered my horse back outside and I bolted for the exit. I was relieved to find him still there, although he was a little annoyed that I had forgotten him. I led him into the stables and penned him up. How ready was I when I could barely remember to take care of my steed?

I turned to leave, giving him some fresh hay and oats, when I saw a boy in the stables with me. He must have been a stable hand, he carried a pitchfork, but the pock-marked little boy stared with horror at me. I then realized that I had forgotten to change my appearance before I had left.

The boy cried out in alarm: "Angarak! Angarak in the Stronghold!" and he dropped the pitchfork and ran out to the streets, crying "Angarak" the whole way.

I turned back to Thunder, who stared at me as well. "_You dark-skin-two-leg_?" he asked.

"_No, I am only half, a dark-skin-blue-eyed-two-leg_!"

He continued to stare, as if telling me he thought he could trust me. I felt horrible, I finally had a friend, and now I messed it up. I stood there, moping as Algar soldiers poured into the stables. Upon seeing me, they approached with caution, for they were worried what powers I possessed to have snuck into their Stronghold without detection.

When I made no move to stop them, they came forward, sabers drawn. Thunder, however, reared and leapt into their path, neighing for all his worth. "_No bad dark-skin-two-leg_!" he kept thinking at them. "_No bad dark-skin-two-leg_!"

One of the Algars halted in his tracks, staring at the horse.

"Stop!" he cried to his comrades. They did, looking at their captain with raised eyebrows. "The stallion, he says the Angarak isn't bad."

"What are you talking about, Hattar?" one of them asked.

"Who do you think you are," another asked, smirking, "A Sha-Dar?"

"Yes," Hattar said with such force and command that the soldiers' mouths opened from surprise. They lowered their weapons as Hattar approached me. "What is your name, son?"

"Zarokal."

"Who are your parents?"

"Polgara the Sorceress and Torak the Dragon God of the Angaraks."

Gasps echoed in the stable. Hattar whistled. "Well now, that explains a lot. I remember the Lady Polgara when last she stayed here. Yes, I see her eyes in you, and her kindness, not the harsh hatred and contempt of the Angarak race." He held out his hand to me. "Please forgive myself and my comrades for our presumptions. You are most welcome in our Stronghold, son of Polgara."

"And of Torak," I added resentfully. "I thank you for your offer, but perhaps it is best that I leave."

"But where will you go?"

"East, to the lands of my own people, the Angaraks. Maybe there I can fit in, for I cannot among Alorns."

"But you are just a child!"

"I can fight, if you don't believe me, we can fight right now." I put a hand on my sword. "I am also half a God and of the line of sorcerers, I can take care of myself."

"I do not doubt you, noble Zarokal, but at least wait for the morning, and then you'll have light to see by."

I sighed, "Very well."

_**The next day . . .**_

As I strapped on my sword and cloak, Anara stood in the doorway, looking mournfully at me. I knew why, she thought I was too young to endure this kind of life.

"I appreciate your concern," I said, "but I can take care of myself."

She started, "How did you . . .?"

"I'm a Demigod and a sorcerer, reading emotions is one of my minor talents."

She nodded, leaning against the doorframe, her arms crossed. Sighing, she said softly, "Even a God needs companions."

I paused in picking up my pack, turning to face her. She must have had a younger brother, or even a son, for I saw a tenderness towards me in her eyes that was uncommon to everyone else.

Despite my youth, I was taller than she. I picked up my pack and, shouldering it, placed a hand on her shoulder. "There is no one who can walk with me the path I have chosen. I cannot make friends as easily as you mortals. Thank you for your hospitality." And with that I left her home.

As we left the Stronghold, Thunder asked where we were going.

"_East, towards the lands of the dark-skin-two-legs_."

"_Why_?"

"_Perhaps we can do some good there. Not all of them are bad, so I've heard_."

He made a sound that sounded a lot like a _harrumph_. I laughed, this was going to be interesting.


	2. I Hate Grolims

_**Zarokal**_

I was having a grand time, riding through a storm.

I was in eastern Drasnia, and for some reason or other the weather decided it was time to have a mild blizzard and bury those foolish enough to be outside in mounds of frozen water. Oh yes, a grand time.

Fortunately we—Thunder and I—stumbled upon a tavern somewhere on the border of Drasnia and Gar og Nadrak. As we approached I began to hear the patrons inside over the roar of the winds. The sign was of a dog's grinning muzzle with the text "The Smiling Dog" underneath the image. _Perfect_, I thought sarcastically. A Nadrak saloon was the last place I would have chosen to wait out a blizzard, but "any port in a storm", as the saying goes.

I dismounted Thunder and took him into the stables. At first I thought there was no one there but horses, but then I heard some muffled kissing and moaning sounds in a darkened stall. I went to the opposite end of the stable and supplied my friend with as much fresh hay as I could find, quickly leaving.

I entered the tavern with my hood up, hiding my face from the patrons. They were mostly Nadraks, but there were a few Drasnian merchants who mingled with their drunken fellows, swindling and stealing from those too intoxicated to realize what was happening. I waded through the tables and bodies to the bar, where a shapely Nadrak woman was cleaning mugs with a rag. She looked at me with piercing eyes as I came closer, as if she could see through the darkness that hid my face and see into my eyes.

Slapping the rag across her shoulders she placed the mug she was holding before me as I reached the counter. "Evening, stranger," she greeted me, "what will you have tonight?"

"Food and a warm place to rest from this storm," I said, deepening my voice, placing a small bag of coins on the counter, what was left of my original funds before the Algars had provided more.

She picked up the bag and weighted it with a hand. She swiftly pocketed it and smiled at me. "A room will be provided, as well as drink. Food is scarce, however, what with the enlisters taking everything for the Mallorean war effort."

"War effort?" I asked.

"The Malloreans got it in their heads that they should rule the Angaraks now that both Torak and his son are out of the way. Their Emperor, a fool calling himself Kal Sanak, has proclaimed himself a God and is trying to use the chaos in Angarak to assume kingship. His enforcers and enlisters are rounding up troublemakers and naysayers, as well as war-ready men and boys, and forcing them to serve in their already endless hordes."

"Wouldn't Torak's disciples do something about that?"

"They're too busy mourning the death of Torak, may he burn forever, to do anything about a mad Mallorean. Besides, rumor has it he's got a rogue Grolim backing his claims. Most of the Thulls and Nadraks are falling for it, but the Murgos are . . . resisting the call."

"I can imagine they are," I replied, and then pointed to the mug in front of me. "Warm ale should fill this nicely."

"Coming right up," she turned to fill the vessel, "So, you have a name?"

"Zarok."

"Mine's Tibka. What news from the west?"

"King Belgeral is gathering all the Rivans to Sendariva, as they're calling what was once Sendaria, calling it their new home. The Godslayer has taken up residence in and is rebuilding Vo Wacune as his capital. The Alorns have calmed down, the Arends haven't, and the rest of the races are ignoring each other. Everyone, though, is hoping it's finally over."

"Well, if this Sanak has his way, it won't be." She commented, taking up another mug and, spitting into it, began to wipe it down.

Once I drained the ale, Tibka called over a young woman to take me to a room. The girl gave me a key and quickly left. Entering the room, I drew back my hood, looking around. The room was clean, at least, so I felt better about the arrangement. I removed my cloak and draped it over a chair, resting my sword against it as well. Placing my pack at the foot of the bed, I spoke to the fireplace and it began to blaze. I tossed a few extra logs onto it for good measure and then I laid down on the bed, placing wards around the room to protect myself and my belonging from thieves. Only when I thought myself secure did I close my eyes.

Well, I may be half a God, but the other half needs to sleep.

_**The next day . . .**_

I was awoken to the sounds of a fight downstairs. Leaping from the bed, I grabbed my sword and rushed to the door. I drew my weapon and stalked down the stairs to the main floor, peeking around the corner.

Mallorean soldiers were subduing and chaining the patrons, rounding them up and dragging them outside. Two of them were handling Tibka in a way that reminded me of my father's abuse of my mother. Hoarsely shouting "Polgara!" as my battle cry, I charged into the red uniformed Malloreans, my black-and-blue sword flashing in the light. I distained killing, so I used the flat of my blade to smack the thugs around. I thought I had them on the run, but then Tibka hollered out: "Behind you!" I whirled around, and then I was knocked out from behind.

I know now not to trust Nadrak women.

As I was coming to, I heard money exchanging hands. I opened my eyes and saw Tibka and a Mallorean captain shaking hands. I later learned she was supplying the Mallorean war effort with supplies and men trying to escape west. I wished then I could have been more distrusting.

I was chained to a dozen smelly, drunk men to a wagon filled with even more smelly, drunk men.

The captain mounted Thunder (he must have found him in the stables (he also had my sword)) and gave the order to move out. As I past Tibka, I spat at her feet. She merely winked at me.

I hate some women!

We traveled for days, as it was a slow pace, towards the coast, where our captors told us we would be shipped to Boundless Mallorea and be initiated into Sanak's armed forces. Well, I guess I wanted to fit in, but this wasn't what I had imagined.

We passed through a few more towns without incident till we joined up with a large train of wagons full of "volunteers". This train eventually reached the coast, where a fleet of ships sat docked and hundreds of soldiers and newly enlisted men were camped on the beach. We rolled into the huge camp and then we were locked up inside one of three palisades, prisons of sorts formed from tall logs staked into the beach into three rough circles, the open entrances guarded by Malloreans with whips and spears.

They hadn't fed us much over the course of the trip, but that didn't affect me. My half-God side sustained me for a long while. They finally fed us, and as we were eating, I sat against the palisade, watching as the prisoners scrambled for a scrap of food.

I suddenly felt a foul presence, akin to what my father would give off as he would approach, but it was lesser, like a . . .

I turned and peered through the cracks in the wall to see three black-robed and steel-masked Grolims. Torak's Teeth, I hate Grolims!

But then I remembered how pious they were, and so a plan to free myself came into play. I looked hard at a young, rather pudgy Drasnian who was chewing on a piece of stale bread and motioned him over. He did so, but cautiously, stuffing the last of the crumbs in his greedy little mouth.

"Listen to me," I told him, "I can help you escape, but in return you must do something for me."

"How?" he asked, "and why should I trust an Angarak?"

"How can I trust a Drasnian?" I countered.

He thought it over, and then shrugged resignedly. "What do I need to do?"

"I'll create a distraction, and then I want you to bolt for that captain's horse, the blue-black one. Say to him: 'Zarok' and he'll let you ride him. I want you to ride to the Vale of Aldur, thinking the whole time: 'Zarok is in Mallorea'. When you meet strange people asking for said 'Zarok', you will know what to say."

"Simple enough, but you'll have a hell of a time trying to distract all of the camp to the point of obliviousness to me."

"Trust me."

He held out his hand. "I don't know you, Angarak, but I like you. The name's Rhodan, Crown Prince of Drasnia, and it was a pleasure working with you."

"Zarokal."

His eyes widened, but he accepted my claim. It seems everyone had heard of me since the fall of Riva.

I looked back for the Grolims, and then I exerted my Will. The Grolims halted in their tracks as if they had walked straight into a wall. They turned to the palisade and tore down the wall between them and me. I stood, arrogant and mighty, like Torak would have. They clearly recognized me, for their eyes widened behind their masks.

"Our Prince and God!" they cried, falling to their knees in reverence. When the other Angaraks saw their action, they turned to look at me, and then they followed the Grolims' example.

I strode forward and forced them to their feet. "I am Zarokal, Prince of Princes and the son of Torak, King of Kings and Lord of Lords. I have returned to claim what is rightfully mine, as my divine father has fallen. I have returned to claim my crown and throne."

"Of course, my Lord." The Grolims stammered, "But there is a usurper on the throne, a rebel named—"

"Sanak," I spat with contempt. "He shall be the first to be punished for defying my father and I. His heart shall burn in the sacrificial fires and his body shall after as an offering of forgiveness to Torak." This was all, of course, ridiculous nonsense, but it was getting the non-Mallorean Angaraks on my side, along with the zealous Grolims. I turned to see Rhodan sneaking out of the palisade to the horses. Luckily, all eyes were on me, so I had to continue.

"The entire world shall tremble at my wrath as I punish Sanak for his blasphemy, but first . . . there is business to attend to."

"What business, my Lord?"

"First . . ." I drew out the moment, "I shall have my sword back, Captain Tharg."

The Mallorean captain that had captured me slowly came forward, holding out my sword and stammering pleas for forgiveness. I took my sword and sliced his face with an **X**. "To remember to think before you act."

"Yes, my Lord." He stuttered.

"Now, we shall sail to Mallorea, and there we shall cast down the usurper that thinks he is a God!"

The harsh cheers where deafening, but encouraging. These fanatical fools would gladly die for me. I hated Angaraks, but I pitied these poor, misguided men. I was going to make sure as few people died for me in the upcoming conflict.


	3. Return of the Prince

_**Kalistos**_

_**Mal Zeth . . .**_

"My Lord!"

I turned from my meditation to regard the human cowering before me. He was pale faced and whimpering like the pathetic human he was.

"What isss it, Korag?" I hissed through clenched teeth, angered by the mere sight of the mortal.

"My King, I bear . . . bad news."

I growled, "You dissspleassse me, Korag. You know I hate bad newsss."

"Yes, I know, but I thought you should hear it."

"You actually thought sssomething?" I chuckled wickedly, "You sssurprissse me, I thought your mind devoid of anything resssembling thought."

He took that without comment. "My King, it is the recruiters, they have revolted against San—I mean you."

I raised an eyebrow. "Why?"

"The report came in that . . ." he gulped, ". . . that Zarokal has returned to Angarak lands."

Both eyebrows shot up. I turned my back to the messenger to hide my surprise. The Demigod has returned! He was the one who struck down the Dragon God, not that puny Belgeral. He was more dangerous than a demon born of a human, half human and half God was he.

This complicated things, if that half-breed learned of my plans . . .

I spun around to the messenger. "Gather my children to me, I mussst converssse with them."

"Yes, King Kalistos."

After he had left, I allowed my true form to show. One half of me was as hard and cold as ice, the other a blazing inferno. Two horns protruded from my forehead and wings that stretched from one wall to the other extended from my back. My feet were hooves and my hands claws. Venomous fangs were revealed as I smiled, parting my bestial face. My barbed tail twitched with anticipation.

I, Kalistos, the King of Hell, longed to feast on the flesh of a God. Even if it was only UL's grandson, it was a start. I would have my revenge on UL for my imprisonment, and thanks to Torak's destruction of the Isle of the Winds, I am free once more!

_**Belgarath**_

_**The Vale of Aldur . . .**_

I was sitting underneath the sentient tree in the Vale of my Master when I strange thought came into my mind.

"_Zarok is in Mallorea_."

My eyes popped open. I looked around but at first saw no one. I then thought it was the tree, but in its own way it denied it.

I stood and looked around again. I then saw a chunky Drasnian on an Algar horse riding towards the towers. I walked to intercept him and hailed him. "Hello, friend, what brings you to this place?"

"Zarok . . . is . . . in . . . Mallorea," he gasped before falling from his horse. I rushed to catch him, but he was heavily than he looked, and so we both fell to the ground. We groaned as one as I tried to remove my arms from underneath his girth.

It was in this position Beldin had to find us. The evil little man took one look at us and began to laugh. I cursed him, but he only laughed harder. Finally, the sensible twins arrived and they helped me up and placed the Drasnian up on his horse. We then walked to my tower, where we brought the Drasnian back to health.

"My thanks, strangers," he finally said, stuffing his face with soup and bread. "I didn't know how much farther I would have to go before I could stop."

"Why didn't you?" Beldin asked.

"I couldn't. Some force kept my mind focused on reaching this place. What day is it?"

"Wednesday." The dwarf answered.

The Drasnian's eyes widened. "Impossible!" he sputtered. "I left the coast Monday!"

"Who . . ."

". . . Are you?" the twins asked him.

"Rhodan."

"Prince Rhodan of Drasnia, the one who went missing some months ago after he got word he was to be married soon?"

He gulped, "Yes, that's me. Who are you?"

I stepped forward. "I am Belgarath, nice to meet you, Your Highness."

If his eyes had gotten any wider, they would have rolled from their sockets. "Holy Belgarath?" he spluttered.

"Will you Alorns ever drop the title 'holy'? I am as mortal as you are!"

Beldin took over. "Why is Zarokal in Mallorea?"

"I'm not sure, I guess from his little speech he wants to do something rather nasty to Kal Sanak, the new Mallorean emperor."

"So he's gone by himself into the lands of his father with only his sword?" I asked.

"No, he's got some Grolims and a horde of some thousand zealous Angaraks at his beck and call."

"Then why . . ."

". . . Come to us?"

"So we can help him." All turned to see Polgara enter. She was dressed for travel, with a weathered cloak wrapped around her shoulders over a plain blue dress.

"Pol, what do you mean?" Beldin asked.

"He wouldn't have gone through all that trouble to send us a message about where he's going unless he wanted us with him." She swiftly crossed the room to Rhodan, standing over him imposingly. "My son, how is he?"

"So, Zarokal really is your son? Well, he seemed fine last I saw him. He's quite a vicious speaker, if you ask me."

"He got it from his father."

_I'd beg to differ_, I thought.

_Do you want to go there, Old Wolf?_

I shut my mouth and my mind.

"We're going."

"Pol," I walked over to her. "Are you sure you can go back there?"

"I was never in Angarak; I was trapped in Vo Mimbre till Riva."

"I mean back to _his_ lands . . . to _his_ side?"

"I must. If my son calls, then I am duty bound to go to his aid."

"Very well. Belkira, Beltira, get young Rhodan back to Drasnia."

"But—"

"No buts, you need to do your duty. Your descendents are going to be important. Beldin, Pol, and I are going to Mallorea."

I took up my staff and transformed into an eagle, flying out the window. I stopped, however, when a voice in my head asked: "_Two-leg with wings_?"

I looked down and saw a black horse looking up at me. Spiraling down, I landed and transformed back. We stared at each other for some time till the others came down.

"_How_?" I asked.

"_I have something to tell you, Belgarath_." A familiar dry voice came from the horse.

"Belar," I cursed. I could see where this was going.

_**Zarokal**_

_**The coast of Mallorea some days later . . .**_

The trip was surprisingly short and uneventful, considering the poor reputation this ocean had. Once we reached northern Mallorea we unloaded and I began the undermining of the current religion.

"You Grolims," I barked, "spread out throughout Mallorea. Spread the word that the Son of the King and God has returned! Tell them he marches on Mal Zeth! Tell them to support their rightful Lord!"

"Yes, my Lord!" They responded and the dozen or so of them transformed into ravens and flew into the heavens.

In the meantime, I had those soldiers I had set up camp. I would let the men get their legs back and rest and then we would march. They set up my tent first, a large red monster with far too much space inside. I sat in the throne-like cape-covered chair when I felt a familiar and loving presence enter my mind.

"_Son_!"

"_Mother_?" I thought, "_You got here quickly_."

"_We got your message_."

"_Already? I expected to be halfway to Mal Zeth by the time Rhodan got to you_."

"_Your horse told us he has changed ever since interacting with you. They traveled across Gar og Nadrak in three days_."

I whistled long and low. "_Are you almost here_?"

"_Yes._"

"_Appear_ _as Grolims when you get here, your normal appearances will frighten the men_."

Some moments later, the guards allowed three Grolims into the tent. When the flap closed behind them, they shimmered and turned back into my family. I embraced my mother tightly, tears beginning to form in my eyes. Belgarath and Beldin hung back till we parted and then I embraced the two of them.

"Now, what's the deal?" Beldin asked, "You decide to stage a coup against one of the most powerful nations in the world in the territory of the Dragon God, who could return at any moment now that you're here, and for what?"

"I was hoping to stop war. The world isn't ready for another one."

"Well, your heart was in the right place, but you may be in over your head this time."

"What do you mean?"

"Zarokal," Belgarath interjected, "have you heard of the King of Hell?"

"Yes, why?"

"He's the one behind the fake Kal, the invasion, all of it."

"I thought UL sealed him in Hell. How did he get out?"

"Apparently the earthquake Torak used to sink the isle of Riva freed him from his bonds." Beldin growled, "He's in Mal Zeth, using the madman Sanak as a puppet to stage his revenge against the Gods."

I didn't know why, but I began to shake, fear filling my heart more so than Torak ever did. The King of Hell! I wasn't ready for this, was I? I sat back down heavily in my chair, holding my head in my hands. My mother came over to me and wrapped her arms comfortingly around me.

"How can we do this? What have I done?" I kept asking.

"I wish I knew, my son," Polgara whispered, "I wish I knew."

"Don't worry too much," Beldin said, "Kalistos, as he's called, isn't at full power yet. He's biding his time till he can take on UL himself."

"How can he do that?" I looked at the dwarf.

"We weren't informed about that, but we're guessing its some kind of powerful object like the Orb of Aldur."

"Like it?" I asked, "There's another?"

"We don't know, but Kalistos is either going for our Master's stone or something like it."

My face hardened. "Well, we can't let him win. If he defeats UL, nothing will be able to stop him. I'm marching to Mal Zeth to not only dethrone Sanak, but to also to stop Kalistos." I stood, "Are you with me?"

"To the end, my son," Polgara said.

"Life was getting dull anyway." Beldin growled.

Belgarath simply nodded.

"Then, after my men have rested . . . we march!"


	4. Standoff

_**Zarokal**_

_**Outside Mal Zeth . . .**_

It has been an interesting march. As we trooped south to Mal Zeth, our numbers were bolstered by the daily arrival of willing new recruits. My Grolims (both the real ones out recruiting and those three in the guise of Grolims) were doing their work well. Beldin, disguised as a Grolim, would pressure the recruits to test their resolve. Most fled at first, but then they were forced to return and Belgarath got them battle ready.

By the time we reached Mal Zeth, it was estimated that half of Mallorea now marched behind me. It was an impressive sight, but most of them were peasants and Grolims, not real soldiers like those following Sanak, the Emperor of Mallorea.

Oh, well, I could say that I had the advantage of Grolims, but I hate Grolims, so I don't count them in my list of assets willingly.

As we topped a hill and looked down upon the imperial glory of Mal Zeth, I saw the camp of quite a few legions between us and the capital of Mallorea.

Beldin came up beside me and looked hard at the enemy forces. "Impressive, ain't it?" he asked.

I only nodded in silence, my mind racing with possibilities, none of which promised success. How was I supposed to defeat an Imperial army with farmers armed with pitchforks?

"A duel for the throne."

Beldin and I turned to see Polgara come up on my other side.

"What do you mean 'a duel'?" I asked.

Beldin was nodding. "Ah, yes, that could do it." When I said nothing, he explained. "A duel between the Emperor claiming to be a God and the son of Torak himself would solidify either's claims to the throne of Angarak. You would win, of course, as you are the rightful heir of old Burnt-Face, and then our troubles with Mallorea will be over for at least a while."

"Huh," I mulled that over. I would doubtless be better with the sword than a madman, and I was a Demigod, so I could take more damage than he could. Aside from the fact that Kalistos would definitely meddle in our fight, I would probably win a duel like that.

"Let's do it."

_**Kalistos**_

_**Mal Zeth . . .**_

I entered the tower where my pawn, Sanak, looked out over the plains surrounding Mal Zeth. Pushing him out of the way, I also gazed out and saw what he saw. Two armies of mortals assembled to do battle over the dominion of Mallorea. I sneered with contempt at the scene, it reminded me too much of the wars in Hell between those bickering Demon Lords.

Using my sight, I espied Torak's spawn for the first time. He resembled his father, but his mother's sickening kindness and compassion were all too evident in his features. He was riding out ahead of his army with his mother, grandfather, and uncle towards the Mallorean camp. I wondered why.

Dragging the raving lunatic behind me, I assumed my human form and stalked out to face my adversary. Sitting Sanak in his chariot, we rode outside the city and through the red-tented camp to meet the sorcerers and Demigod halfway.

Casting an illusion around Sanak to hide his true appearance from them, I sat tall on my steed and stared imposingly at Zarokal.

"Who art thou," I began, "that thou wouldssst dare fassse the wrath of Kal Sssanak, Emperor of Mallorea and the King and God of all Angarak and the world?"

"I am Zarokal, son of Torak and the Prince of Angarak, the _rightful_ heir to the throne. Oh, and that illusion can't hide from me Sanak's true nature. Right now he is sucking his thumb, for he feels the presence of the Demigod of Angarak."

I looked at Sanak and, indeed, through the illusion his thumb was in his mouth. Growling, I struggled to retain my composure. "What do you want, boy?"

"I want you back in _Istos_, your Majesty."

"Heh, that isss not going to happen. I am never going back, and I ssshall have my revenge on your ssself-deified Grandfather, UL, for locked my up for all thossse millennia. And no one, not even you, can ssstop me."

"Really?" Zarokal asked with a smug grin on his youthful face. "I'm willing to bet I can beat your pawn in a duel for the world. If I win, Angarak is mine and you go back to Istos. If you win, then the Universe is yours."

I mulled that over. "You would defeat Sssanak, if it were just he."

"What are you proposing?"

"It'sss sssimple, through Sssanak I will fight you. We ssshall sssee who isss better, here and now."

The Demigod was silent for a while. He must have been communing with his family through their minds, for they kept exchanging glances for what seemed an eternity. Finally, Zarokal faced me.

_**Zarokal**_

"I accept your challenge." I said with more confidence than I felt.

"Exsssellent," Kalistos hissed, his fangs bared with his vicious smile. "I am going to enjoy thisss." He stayed on his horse, and Sanak, suddenly becoming alert, stepped from the chariot and drew his scimitar, picking up a second one. The Malloreans were cheering for their Emperor while my followers hoarsely shouted my name in a zealous chant.

Dismounting Thunder, I drew my bruised blade and approached the literal puppet.

I attacked first, not wanting the King of Hell to start the fight. The puppet blocked the blow with one weapon and swung at my midsection with the other. Pulling the blocking scimitar with my own sword, I hoped to tangle up the two scimitars as their paths collided. They didn't. Sanak/Kalistos stopped his slice and, as the first scimitar came down, he then continued the slice over the fallen weapon with the second scimitar. Quickly stepping back, I dodged the cut and then, maintaining distance, we circled for a moment and then came at each other again.

So it went on, back and forth between the two of us. It seemed that the King of Hell and I were more or less evenly matched. We fought for what I later learned was hours, and I was beginning to tire. I couldn't help but think back to that time I fought Belgeral on that beach.

Finally, Sanak suddenly dropped his swords, his whole body sagging like the puppet he was. Hardly able to believe my luck, I lopped Sanak's head clean off and couldn't help but feel amusement as it flew some feet before landing and rolling to a stop. Kalistos was screaming in a tongue so foul it was incomprehensible. Belgarath and Beldin crowed in victory as my army cheered.

Feeling the moment, I mounted Thunder and rode to the front of the Mallorean army. "I have proven to you, my fellow Angaraks, that Sanak was not worthy of dominion of this realm. I, the Demigod of Angarak, shall rule not only Boundless Mallorea, but all of Angarak as well."

_**Kalistos**_

As the brat began to rant about how he would now rule Angarak, I tried to understand what had happened. My connection to Sanak had been severed, but I felt no Will, so those sorcerers and the Grolims were ruled out. Could Zarokal, as a Demigod, have different powers than his family? No, even he made noise when his Will was exerted. A true God? Could Aldur have . . .?

I then saw a white light descend around me, a spiritual presence I recognized all too well.

"UL," I hissed.

"Hello, Kalistos," UL greeted me.

"Why, UL? You did not need to interfere in thisss. It wasss going to be fair."

"Nothing you do is fair, Kalistos, least of all fighting a thirteen year old boy."

"A thirteen year old Demigod ssson of Torak and Polgara, I thought the sides even."

"You would, brother."

"Aha, now you recognissse me asss family, now that I'm a threat to you, oh UL."

"True, I cannot banish you back into Hell like I did before, lest the force of that act would awaken my mad son and the War of the Gods would begin anew."

"Ssso, what are you going to do?" I couldn't help but ask.

"For now, nothing, but know this, brother, you shall not win."

"We ssshall sssee."


	5. King for a Day

_**Zarokal**_

After delivering my rousing speech to the Malloreans, they parted and allowed me to enter the city. We entered the palace and arranged a coronation to take place the next day. With the help of my family, we arranged for a bodyguard to protect me while I rested. Soon a dozen Malloreans surrounded me as I walked to my chambers, all as silent as the grave and just as grim.

We reached the door to the emperor's suite when Kalistos emerged from the shadows.

"Greetingsss, my liege," he hissed sharply. "I hoped to ssshare a few wordsss with you before you retired."

"I don't see why not," I replied, shifting my blade into a more obvious position.

He chuckled, "You need not fear me now, oh Demigod of Angarak. I am just a messenger, a harbinger if you will."

"And what is it you have to say, then?"

"Only that the world is now a more savage place, there will be forces at work to undo the events you and your father have set in motion, and those who wish to see this new Destiny to its conclusion. Be careful who you trust, dark prince, for those you trust most may be the ones to drive the dagger through your heart." And with those words, he vanished.

"Shall we detain the high priest, Your Highness?" Captain Tharg asked, eager to please as ever.

"That shall not be necessary." I shuddered involuntarily as I passed through the doorway into the suite, the words haunting.

What I saw then horrified me.

Just inside the door was a harem of scantily clad young women reclining on cushions and giggling girlishly to themselves. When they saw me enter, they went silent and stared in awe and fear up at me. For a moment, we simply stared at each other.

"C-c-captain Tharg?" I managed to ask over my shoulder.

"Yes, my Prince?"

"Did you know Sanak had a harem?"

"Yes, my Prince."

"Why didn't you tell me?" I snarled.

"I didn't think—"

"That's right, you STILL don't think!"

"Whatever is the matter, my Prince?" one of the women asked, standing tall and bearing a confident smirk, "do we not please you?"

Torak's teeth! Not another Angarak woman! "I . . . ah . . . um . . ."

"Shall I have them removed, Demigod?"

I whirled around to see Polgara standing behind me. She still wore her mask, but I'd know her anywhere. "Yes, Polanna," I sighed, spouting out some kind of Angaraky-sounding name.

After the crowd was removed, I finally allowed myself to relax. Polgara, closing the doors behind her, allowed her illusion to fade away and her face was unveiled. I sank into a cushioned chair, my armor rattling around obnoxiously. "That Kalistos is starting to worry me."

"Starting?" Mother asked.

"I mean, more so than expected." I relayed what the King of Hell told me, and Polgara frowned.

"It is not uncommon for the Dark to make threats, but it is usually straight forward. This riddling is new for the Dark Prophecy."

"Great, so the bad guys have learned a new trick." I sighed. "What do we do now?"

"I don't know, my son."

We were silent for a while, and then a yawn escaped my lips. "I guess I should go to bed."

"Yes, you should."

_**Polgara**_

After I tucked my son in, (yes, it may seem overly motherly, but I had never gotten the opportunity before, and it felt nice anyway) I left his chambers, making sure the guards were awake, and then headed for my father and uncle. I found them in the wine cellar. I guess I shouldn't have been surprised, but there they were, slowly draining the place dry.

"We have a problem."

"What could we be worried about?" Beldin asked, belching out his response to my worry. "We beat Kalistos, he's still powerless, and we have Angarak under our control. What more could you want?"

"The King and God of Hell back where he belongs before his presence awakens Torak."

Belgarath frowned, "We did forget that little detail before our celebrations, didn't we, brother?"

"I suppose we were a wee bit premature, but what are we going to do about it?"

"I wish I knew."

_**Zarokal**_

_**The next day . . .**_

I was awoken by Beldin, who told me that I was supposed to start being the ruler of Angarak. I groaned, but got up.

"Do those hurt?" I heard him ask.

I looked over my shoulder at the scars on my back from where Torak had beaten me. "Every day."

"You have the power to remove those, you know."

"I'd rather not. They help me remember, so I won't become like him."

Beldin nodded as I slipped on a shirt. "I like your thinking, boy, but the memories should have to be enough."

"The pain is a better reminder."

"Well, you don't look the emperor role yet." He turned to the wardrobe and, opening it, removed a blood red robe and a fur-lined black cape, both with Angarak gold clasps.

"I believe I share grandfather's views on finery. Why should I dress like someone I'm not?"

"Because you are not only the Demigod of Angarak, but also the Emperor of Mallorea, you need to look the part or else no one will take you seriously."

"But why do I need to become Emperor?"

"So we don't have to deal with Angarak anymore." Beldin said as I slid into the robe. "We've been trying to deal with the East for millennia, and now, finally, we have a peaceful solution. All we need now is for the West to accept this without bloodshed."

"Well, good luck with that." I said dryly, remembering my reception in the Algar Stronghold.

"That's a bridge we'll cross when we get there, lad," Beldin reassured me as I buckled by sword to my belt and then draped the cape about my shoulders. "For now, let's get the rest of Angarak under your thumb."

I laughed sardonically, "You make me sound like some kind of tyrant."

"Well, that's all the Angaraks have ever known. You'll have to take it slow, or else they might die of shock."

I took a look in the mirror. I did look impressive, but it wasn't me. "This thing itches." I complained lamely.

"You'll get used to it. Now, let's go, your public awaits."

We walked out of my chambers, where Belgarath and Polgara awaited. "You look very handsome, my son," Polgara gushed, "if not a bit flippant."

"It was Uncle Beldin's idea."

"Brother," Belgarath groaned, putting a hand on the dwarf's shoulder, "I love you dearly, but that was a little too much. I mean, a fur-lined cape?"

"And what was my home to you and my other brothers?"

Belgarath opened his mouth, but then closed it, slightly flushed.

"Can we go, please?" I asked, "This thing is ridiculous, and the sooner I do this, the sooner I can get out of it."

We left after that, they taking the form of Grolims and falling in line behind me. I walked to the balcony overlooking the city, where the throngs of Angaraks cheered at my appearance, more from fear of repercussion that of love or loyalty.

Raising my hands to silence them, I began to speak.

_**Kalistos**_

I watched from the shadows as the Demigod of Angarak proclaimed to his people how he would lead them out of fear and hatred into an era of harmony and equality among all races, not through conquest but through diplomacy and trade. Wrongs would be righted, and the scars Torak made would be healed to the best of the Demigod's abilities. For being little more than a child, he was very charismatic, I found myself almost cheering with the crowds of mortals.

Belgarath himself placed the crown on his head, declaring him the Emperor of Mallorea and King of all Angarak. I frowned, if it were me, I would wear all crowns. But now, with UL watching, there was little I could do . . . for now.

_**Zarokal**_

After my speech, I entered the throne room, where I took my seat and began the long process of forging peace between East and West. I sent ambassadors first to the Tolnedrans, they would be the easiest to sway over to my cause. Next were the Arends, they were hopefully stupid enough that I could convince them of anything. The Nyissans came next, my hopes weren't too high though. The Alorns I would have to talk to face to face.

Leaving Beldin to watch over the Empire, Belgarath, Pol, and I left for the West. I sent a messenger to the kings of Aloria to have them meet me in Sendariva. This was an act of trust, as I would be placing myself in the middle of their territory with only a small guard of Malloreans, led, of course, by Captain Tharg. Torak's Teeth, I hope I outlive that man.

I was met on the coast by representatives from all but Nyissa, which didn't surprise me. Alorns, Arends, and Tolnedrans all stood grimfaced as my rowboat beached and I, my family, and Tharg got off. I strode forward confidently but not arrogantly, wearing my black armor and my sword at my side.

"So, this is the fabled Demigod of Angarak." Ungar, king of the Chereks, growled, eying me dangerously. "He's just a boy."

"And he's been through more than you can imagine, Ungar." Belgarath snarled back.

"Gentlemen," Belgeral said sternly, stepping between the two. "We're here on peaceful terms, not to fight."

I looked at my cousin. He had grown up a little since I'd seen him. It would appear that running a kingdom was hard on him too. "_How are you cousin_?" I asked.

"_It's been_ Istos _trying to get the Alorns to agree to this, especially the Rivans. Be a gem and don't do anything to upset them_."

"_Of course_," Outloud, I addressed the Alorns. "I am Zarokal, son of Polgara the Sorceress and the Dragon God, may he burn forever. I am the Demigod of Angarak, Emperor of Mallorea, and Overlord of the East. I seek nothing but peace between East and West, and I have come here to try and accomplish that."

"I'll vouch for him."

All turned to see a portly Drasnian step forward, a boyish grin on his face and a very pretty Drasnian lady by his side. I started, "Prince Rhodan?"

"Yes, it is I, and I have not forgotten how you saved my life back on the coast of Gar og Nadrak."

"_I suppose _she_ was the reason you were in Angarak lands at all_?"

Rhodan coughed uncomfortably, glancing at his fiancé. "_Yes, she was, but that's a different tale to tell_."

"I too will stand by Zarokal," Belgeral declared. "He is my relative through Polgara's line, and if that is not enough to make you trust him, then what is?"

There was awkward silence at that, for none of them dared look into the level gaze my mother was directing at them all.

"Well then," Belgarath said, rubbing his hands together, "shall we get around to finally bringing peace to the world?"


	6. Peace

_**Belgeral**_

At the moment, Zarokal and Rhodan were discussing the border between Drasnia and Nadrak lands. "Look, Zar, I like you, but you're asking too much from my people."

"What's wrong with a little extra protection between the border to prevent rebels and smugglers to cross that border as easily?" Zarokal asked, sorely confused by politics.

"For one thing, Angaraks massed on any border makes the West nervous, and another thing, my country makes its livings off of spying and smuggling. What you're suggesting is both harmful to my economy and a source of tension for the West."

"Then what would you suggest, oh wily one?"

"A wall, maybe? One that's easily scaled and not that guarded."

"But that defeats the purpose of a wall."

"It will look good on the treaties, and the image of some kind of barricade between us will appease the Alorns . . . mostly, plus show the Angaraks were the boundaries are for now."

As the meeting progressed, I watched my distantly related cousin. He had matured since I last met him, but then, one would have to, ruling all of Angarak. His features had hardened, and his catlike eyes were steely, not the soft blue of his mother's eyes. He was almost as tall as the Chereks and his form was full-fledged, rippling with corded muscle. I also think he had aged faster than normal humans, for he now looked like he was in his late teens. His cheeks possessed the characteristic scars of Murgos, marring his otherwise handsome features.

Zarokal, despite his naïve ideals, managed to expose any loophole that would harm his people more than the Westerners. He clearly possessed the wisdom of the Gods, but his youth at times seemed to cloud his vision.

"Torak may have cracked the world and sunk Riva, but I am not Torak," Zarokal was saying, "nor are my people! Why must we pay for the sins of a mad God?"

"Because you are his son and heir," Ungar replied, "his crimes and dues fall to you to make right."

"Alorns," Belgarath grumbled, closing his eyes and pinching the bridge of his nose. I silently nodded in agreement. We were, as a race, very stubborn and we hold onto grudges too strongly. We have hated the Angaraks since the days of the War of the Gods, ever since Torak cracked the world, and as the ages past, it only got worse.

To make things short, the meetings between Zarokal and the Alorns alone lasted a week. I did my best to keep fights from breaking out, but it was hard, especially with the Chereks and Rivans, both of whom keenly remembered their losses after Vo Mimbre and demanded retribution. On the plus side, only one fight broke out, and it wasn't even Zarokal's fault. Ungar's son, Ulgar, thought something the Demigod had said was an insult and attacked him. It was over quickly, ending with the Chereks apologizing.

Finally agreements were met and the meetings moved on to those between the Angaraks and the Arends, who also wanted Vo Mimbre and the surrounding countryside paid for, as during Torak's stay there, there had been substantial damage done by his forces on the land. The young barons of the Mimbrates and Asturians were finally brought together inadvertently by Zarokal and they joined their sides to form a unified Arendia, symbolized by a Mimbrate prince and an Asturian princess marrying each other.

The Ulgos didn't have much to add, just that the Angaraks swore to promote peace, which Zarokal agreed to. The Tolnedrans were another matter entirely. They tried to weasel their way into every treaty and deal made in that fortnight. Finally, Zarokal snapped.

"**ENOUGH**!" he roared, shaking the very ground with the force of his rage. We all ran into the tent where Zarokal and the Tolnedrans were meeting. What I saw still frightens me. Belgarath stared in horror, Beldin swore, and Polgara almost fainted from shock.

It was as if Torak had returned to the West in the form of his son. His eyes were blue fire, his face appeared scorched, and an aura of darkness surrounded him. His sword was in hand, and it blazed with a blue fire not unlike my own blade.

Zarokal, or Torak, turned towards us and glared at us with ire unseen since Torak's fall. "Will you stand against me as well?" he asked, wrath and annoyance dripping from his words like venom. "These mortals seek to make me a lesser pawn in their games, it shall not be."

"Zarokal, this isn't you," I said, trying to calm him. "This must be Torak's madness."

"Do not test me, mortal king," Zarokal growled, "For days these humans have sought to harm me and my people, I shall stand for it no longer. I shall take what is rightfully mine, by force if necessary!"

"Boy, think!" Beldin roared. "You don't what to be like _him_, do you?"

The Demigod paused.

"You don't want to be like Torak, because of what he did to you and Pol! Remember the scars!"

Zarokal suddenly winced in pain, dropping his fiery sword and arching his back.

"Remember who you are, Zarokal, and that is not Torak."

The aura faded away as Zarokal faded from what I learned was his true form, the Son of the King and God. He groaned as the madness passed, and Beldin approached him warily. Zarokal collapsed to his knees, and began to weep, realizing what he had done. Beldin, seeing him like that, wordlessly embraced the boy.

I ushered out the Tolnedrans, letting the family had their moment.

_**Beldin**_

"What have I done?" Zarokal wept. "What have I become?

I held the boy tenderly, saying nothing. What could I say? He was just now realizing the burden he had to bear. Belgarath and Polgara joined the embrace, and we all wept together. Finally, Zarokal stopped crying. He sniffed, and then we stood.

"Are you alright now?" I asked.

He nodded.

Pol kissed his brow. "We love you, Zarokal. Nothing will change that."

"I know, but still . . ."

"This isn't going to be easy, Zarokal," Belgarath said softly, "but you aren't alone. We will always be here when you need us."

"Alright." He sniffed again, drying the tears in his eyes. "I suppose I scared the Tolnedrans pretty badly."

"Ah, they needed a dose of reality." I growled. "They didn't know who they were messing with."

"You should go see how they are, though," Belgarath suggested.

I walked outside, where the Tolnedrans were packing up. "And where do you think you lot are going?"

"We are leaving. Tolnedra will have nothing to do with the spawn of Torak, or his people."

That I wasn't expecting. "What? You're just going to leave?"

"Try and stop us, dwarf."

I didn't, but I did warn the others.

Belgarath started to swear, and Polgara sighed. "I guess they have the right to leave."

"But what kind of an example will that be to the Alorns?" Belgarath spouted angrily. "What if they leave as well? I've worked too long and hard to have our one shot at peace destroyed because of this!"

"I guess Torak's won after all."

We all turned to Zarokal, who leaned wearily against the edge of the table. "I mean, because of his madness, I ruined everything. His greatest weapon was me all along."

Polgara strode in front of her son. "Look at me." When he did, she spoke firmly. "You are not Torak, you are not his weapon, and you are not responsible for any of this."

Belgeral came in. "I'm sorry, I tried to convince the Tolnedrans to stay, but nothing short of threatening their lives would make them stay."

"What of the Alorns?"

"They're feeling rather smug, believing themselves right all along."

Belgarath sighed, "Why me?"

"Maybe Destiny likes you." I suggested.

My brother glared hard at me. "You are a cruel little man; you realize this, don't you?"

I smiled, "Yes, yes I do."

"I don't see how making light of the situation is going to solve our problems." Zarokal stated somberly.

"We do this to keep from giving into despair." I said with a straight face.

The Demigod suddenly brightened up, as if an idea just came to him. He strode outside, where all the Alorns, Arends, Ulgos, and the ready-to-go Tolnedrans stood around.

"Hear me, people of the West!" He declared, "I apologize for my madness before, but I am not the one responsible for it, it is my father who is to blame. Torak seeks, even in death-like slumber, to keep us separate and standing alone, so that his minions could conquer us more easily if he returns. I shall not keep anyone here to their word if they now wish to retract from these accords, but I beg of you all, don't let Torak win, not this time!"

Ungar looked around, and then, with a scowl, strode forward. "I don't know who or what you are, Demigod, but if you truly oppose your father and the Darkness he served, and if Belgarath is behind you, then the Chereks will as well."

Belgeral joined the Cherek king, "As will Riva. We two peoples remember the scars the Dragon God of Angarak left on this world more keenly than most, and so if we are willing to put our anger aside to unite against a common foe, then why not the rest of the world?"

One by one the other rulers of the races joined Zarokal, save the Tolnedran ambassador. "No," he said, "we have seen the face of Torak in that boy, and we shall not serve a dark master."

The Tolnedrans left the next day.

_**Zarokal**_

That left the rest of Angarak to agree to this, but the only ones who would give me any trouble would be the Murgos. Fortunately, with the promise of retaliation from not only the West, but the East as well, the Murgos gave in without much more complaining. The Gorim of Ulgo became the voice of the unified peoples of the world, with Belgeral representing the West and I the East.

I'll admit that not much else happened. When I returned to Mallorea I learned that Kalistos had left. The King of Hell's words still rang in my ears, but it would be many years before he would become a real threat again.


	7. The Proposal

_**Belgeral**_

_**Five years later . . .**_

"Why do I need to get married?" I asked, "I'm immortal, aren't I?"

"_You could live forever if not felled in battle or poisoned_," the Voice Upstairs said dryly, "_but with those variables an heir or two wouldn't be a bad idea_."

There I was, minding my own business, studying up on the economics of commerce between East and West, when the Prophecy came knocking in my head and told me to get betrothed.

"I suppose you have someone in mind?"

"_Yes_."

"Whom, if I may ask?"

"_You may not_."

That took me aback. "Why not?"

"_There are still forces out there that seek my downfall, and interfering with this wedding is one way of doing this_."

"Still? I thought we defeated the Dark back when Zarokal killed his father!"

"_Torak isn't dead—at least not in the way you're thinking—only the Child of Light wielding the Orb of Aldur can kill him. He is, however, now just a hollow shell of himself, a vessel if you will_."

"A vessel? For whom?"

"_I'm not allowed to tell you_."

"Belar!" I cursed; he was as irritating as Belgarath said he was.

The dry Voice laughed in my mind. "_I may be irritating, but then imagine how frustrated your enemies are. The less you know, the less they know_."

I mulled over that, and then I nodded reluctantly.

"_Now, to help throw off any agents of the Dark, you will need to travel all around the Western Kingdoms, starting with Cherek, to meet all the eligible princesses_."

"ALL of them?" I asked fearfully.

"_ALL of them_," he repeated firmly.

I groaned. This was going to be _Istos_.

_**Belgarath**_

After a grueling session of celebrations with Beldin and the twins, I felt my mind was going to be fuzzy forever. I started hearing voices in my head, but one was more incessant that the rest.

"_Belgarath. Belgarath_!"

"Wha . . . whozat?"

"_Belgarath, it's me, Belgeral_."

"_Oh, you, I wuz 'frad it were Pol_."

"_Listen, I need to ask a favor of you_."

"_Whazat_?" I was clearly not in the mood for this.

"_I need you to get in touch with my cousin, Zarokal_."

"_Why? Izzomting wong_?"

"_Yes, I'm getting married_."

That woke me up. "_What? Says who_?"

"_Says the Prophecy_."

My mind was racing, but with a calm voice I asked, "_Do you know who_?"

"_No, our mutual friend is keeping it to himself so the Dark's agents won't know either_."

Grr, "_Do you know anything_?"

"_She's in the West; I have to travel all throughout the Western kingdoms, meeting all the available princesses, till I stumble upon the right one. That's what he said_."

"_Why do you need Zarokal_?"

"_Our_ _friend says so, it would be diplomatic for the East to have a say in all this, and I'd feel safer with a Demigod with me when I put myself at all these women's mercy_."

I cracked a laugh at that. "_I'll see if he's awake_."

_**Zarokal**_

It was hectic, sailing back and forth from East to West and back again. Fortunately all the important (or necessary) Grolims are loyal to me now and, with General Tharg and a few other commanders and aristocrats, they can run Angarak in my absence. I reached Sendariva in record time, (I'm sure the Prophecy tampered with the winds and weather a little to get us here) and I was welcomed warmly by my cousin.

"Hail, Demigod of Angarak!" Belgeral called out.

"Hail, Overlord of the West!" I responded.

Catching each other in a rough bear hug, he whispered in my ear, "We need to talk privately."

"Of course, cousin."

We strode into a pavilion set up nearby and there we were served wine and then left alone.

Belgeral took a deep draught and then leaned forward. "Cousin," he began, "I told you I'm getting married, and that I have no idea who."

"Aye,"

"I also told you you've to come along."

"Aye,"

"The truth is that I'm scared stiff of facing all these women. I'm a celebrity and for some reason celebrities do something strange to the female mind."

"I understand that." I frowned into the glass of wine, wishing I had something stronger. Suddenly the reddish purple began to froth and change color. There in the glass was no longer wine but ale. I smiled. Being half a God could be useful at times.

"Why are you smiling?" Belgeral asked.

"No reason, cousin."

He shrugged. "We need to start in Cherek. You won't be able to bring any Angaraks with you, some of the populace let go of prejudices harder than others."

"Of course, I myself shall disguise my appearance so as to make the journey easier on both of us."

"Thank you," Belgeral smiled as I refilled my glass with more ale. "You have no idea the reassurance you're giving me just by coming with."

"Anything for the Godslayer."

_**In Cherek**_

_**Some days later . . .**_

We were welcomed by great pomp and circumstance, trumpets and drums and cheers resounded across the harbor and the city as we sailed into Val Alorn. We were greeted by the Cherek King Ungar and his eldest son, Ulgar, who had caused some trouble back during the peace talks. They welcomed Belgeral warmly, but then noticed me.

"Who is this warrior?" Ungar asked.

I had disguised myself to resemble a Rivan: blue eyes, fair hair, pale skin, and a grey cloak. My sword was hidden under my cloak, so the telltale hilt could not be seen. "I am Mister Zar, Majesty," I said softly, bowing low, "King Belgeral's bodyguard."

"Well, Mister Zar, you are as welcome as any here."

"You are too kind, Ungar."

Ulgar looked at me with a questioning stare, but when I caught his look he glanced away. I wondered, but only for a moment.

We were loaded into carriages, I rode Thunder, who still possessed the youth and strength he did when I first found him, and rode the rest of the way to the palace. There we were introduced to Ungar's two daughters: Goruda and Bruhilda. Both were younger than Belgeral but older than I. Belgeral grimaced and greeted both kindly.

"_He's not too happy about this, is he_?" I asked mentally.

"_No_," the Prophecy answered, "_but he'll have to get over it_."

"_You really are heartless, aren't you_?"

"_Maybe_," Then he was gone.

We entered the palace and ate dinner. Belgeral and Ungar discussed politics and the arrangement while I observed from my place, leaning against the wall behind Belgeral. The sister princesses were talking quietly to themselves the way girls do, casting wicked little glances at Belgeral, who was painfully aware of their glances. I abhorred women and their cunning little minds.

Ulgar kept glancing at me, which I paid little attention to, till he finally stopped when I stared back at him, irked. He worked himself up and walked out of the hall in a rush, causing everyone to stare after him. I followed, wondering what he was up to.

_**Belgeral**_

"I appreciate all this, Ungar," I said politically, returning my attention to the king, "but you didn't have to go to all this trouble."

"Anything for the Godslayer!" the Cherek said expansively, "Besides, when I got the news that you were looking for a bride, I was overwhelmed with joy that you started here that I had to share!"

"That's grand, my friend," I then lowered my voice, "but—and don't take this the wrong way—I don't know if your daughters are the right ones."

"WHAT?!" Ungar roared, whom I quickly shushed. "What do you mean not the right ones?" he then asked more calmly. "Are my daughters not fair enough for you?"

"It's the Prophecy, my king," I said simply, and then the Cherek calmed down.

"Oh, that old boy still has a say in things, does he?"

"Yes, he does, and he wants me to travel around till I literally stumble across the 'right one'."

"Oho, trying to throw off the foe, eh?"

"Something like that."

"Has the Prophecy said anything yet?"

"No, and it confuses me."

"_It shouldn't, I'm enjoying watching you squirm underneath the cunning gazes of the princesses_."

I dared a look at the sisters, who were indeed looking at me with cruel, feminine cunning. "_Shut up, you_."

The Prophecy laughed and then was gone.

_**Zarokal**_

I followed the Cherek prince through the halls till he rounded a corner and I could feel the intensity of his sudden purpose in my godlike mind. From the tension in his mind, he was probably waiting for me to come around the corner so he could attack me.

Drawing my sword, Willing it to be silent, I crept up to the corner and then dashed in front of the startled prince. Giving a cry, he swung clumsily at me, but I easier parried the blow and held my bruised blade to his throat.

"What is it about me that has you in a frenzy, my Prince Ulgar?"

"You're an Angarak, blue-eyed though you may be! How you have deceived my father is beyond me, but you can't fool me!"

I started at his accusation. How had he seen through my disguise? I allowed my guise to fade away, "How?"

"A witch cursed me, but I see it now as a blessing. I can see the truth in men's hearts, and in yours I see the twisted madness of Torak, may he burn forever!"

"If you can really see my heart, then you will also see that I am Zarokal, son of not only Torak but Polgara as well. Accuse Torak if you must, but accuse me and you accuse her at the same time, so, if I were you, I won't do that."

Ulgar was silent for a moment, but then: "How can you keep the madness at bay? I see it clawing at the defenses you've set up against it, but it ever threatens to break free. Where do you get the strength?"

"From my mother," was all I would tell him.

He nodded. "I understand. When that witch cursed me when I was born, she meant it as a means to drive me mad with seeing the truth in everyone. I see the darkness in all of us, even myself. There was a time when I couldn't trust anyone.

"But then I realized that I could use this as a gift when, if, I become king. I could know who the bad ones were and deal with them. I could make the world a better place."

"Then why attack me?"

"I was afraid that if the madness ever broke free, its fire would consume the world. I hoped to extinguish it."

"And now?"

"I see the dark that was brewing inside me, and I know now I would never forgive myself if I let my youthful ignorance blind me to do such an evil act. Will you … forgive me?"

"Already have, Ulgar."

He smiled wanly.

"Come," I said, "let's finish dinner."

_**Belgeral**_

After dinner, I was on my way to retire when I had the sneaking suspicion that I was being followed. As I entered my chambers, a flash in the dark alerted me almost too late.

A short sword came at my throat, a slice that I only just dodged. The blade came back quickly, but it stopped mid-swing as a muffled cry echoed eerily in my ears.

A blue light filled the room to reveal Zarokal and the assassin, dead on the floor, the glow coming from the Demigod's blade.

"Are you alright, Geral?" Zarok asked.

"Yes, thanks to you, cousin."

Zarokal knelt down to the assassin, observing his face. "A Drasnian." He said shortly.

"Why?"

Standing, Zarokal shook his head. "I don't know. But I have a feeling we will learn soon enough."


End file.
